


Skyler, Told In Prompts

by distantdreaming



Category: Original Work
Genre: I promise this won't hurt too badly later, M/M, Soulmates, TW: Suicide, TW: cutting, fluff (i s2g it's possible), no but seriously he just has a bad past, quick build, tw: anxiety, tw: depression, tw: ed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:44:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantdreaming/pseuds/distantdreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skyler's small, invisible, and he likes it that way.</p>
<p>Or so he tells himself.</p>
<p>He makes it through the days with determination, and sometimes sheer willpower. He's not happy, no, but he hasn't completely given up yet.</p>
<p>And then he meets Jericho, who is a whirlwind of everything he's ever wanted and he's swept off his feet and spun until he's dizzy (not that that's hard) with happiness...and maybe happy endings are possible after all.<br/>---<br/>Based off of RP characters, written like a novel, told in parts using prompts by the creator of the characters I'm graciously allowed to use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Endure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carissa](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Carissa).



> There's obviously a hella lot of triggers, and for that I'm sorry. I'm not going to be pulling my punches, because then I wouldn't be doing the story justice. Please, please do not read if these kind of things affect you negatively. I'm always here to talk if you need me.

 

Skyler remembers the early years of his life pretty fondly, because his Papa was there and everything was beautiful and warm.

 

And then he’s nine and having nightmares every night because all he can see when he closes his eyes is Papa, hanging from the rafters of the attic. His mother tells him to get over it, to not give Papa the satisfaction of crying over him, because the bastard had clearly meant for it to hurt.

 

But he can’t wrap his young mind around that, so he cries anyways, cries even when his mother lashes out to get him to shut up, cries _harder_ when the first blow snaps his head to the side and knocks him to the floor.

 

It’s not _fair._

That’s the prevailing thought in his mind that lasts through age nine through eleven.

 

It’s not fair his mother found a new family, married into one and created a baby that’s cherished above everything else, and Skyler gained a brother that was everything he will never be and everything his mother has always wanted in a son.

 

At twelve, he realizes nothing is fair, because this world is not built for fair. This world is not built for small boys who lost the one good thing in their life, and who can’t get through the day without another bruise. This world is not nice, less so when he can’t read basic books at any speed higher than a five year old’s, when he can’t understand what long division is because nothing makes any sense to him on the page.

 

From twelve to thirteen, the world seems darker every day and he’s crying still, and he’s liking everything around him less and less with each passing sunrise.

 

He hasn’t slept right since that damn day.

 

As he gets older, things get harder. He picks up a blade for the first time when he’s fourteen and the pressures of his ‘family’ are choking his every breath, and the first cut is like a pin in a balloon with how fast the relief spikes through him, shoots up his arm and relaxes the tense muscles in his shoulders. It fades too fast, so he adds more until his fingers are the color of cherries, glossy and beautiful, and his palm catches a small pool.

 

And the dizziness hits him like a sledgehammer and he very nearly crumples to the floor, but he manages to keep himself standing as that arm gives out and the blade clatters into the sink, just as stained as he is.

 

After that, he learns how to be more careful. He’s pushed too far, too fast, and it was dangerous.

 

But that’s one of the best parts, the danger. It’s exhilarating, knowing this shiny little piece of metal has the power to end his life, _he_ has the power, if he so chooses. It’s wild and crazy and so very, very twisted, but he loves it. He loves the relief and the neat, orderly patterns he puts it in because he likes to have things just so no matter what he’s doing.

 

By seventeen he can’t wear short sleeves without dirty looks and disgusted glances, so he doesn’t, but he also doesn’t stop. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to sleep through the night, to go without the sharp sting of the blade to keep his thoughts clear. He barely remembers to eat, and the only reason he still does is because he can’t indulge all three of his habits (insomnia, becoming thin enough to disappear, and cutting his emotions down to a manageable size) without passing out and losing hours at a time to the most inconvenient blackouts.

 

He’s already been held back two grades, so he’s entering school as a freshman, but by his appearance he’s still young enough to be in seventh grade (American education isn’t that fantastic to begin with, so he’s drastically far behind in comparison to his native French school curriculums) and so he doesn’t get any weird looks.

 

He’s assigned a tour guide that looks like she’d rather be anywhere else and leaves him with just a map after his first period as she disappears into the crowd. As a result, he ends up missing almost the entirety of his second period, finding the teacher annoyed and threatening a punishment, and it’s only his first day.

 

He doesn’t understand why the directions keep getting backwards in his head, why nothing he tries to read or write makes any sense, and why he just gets migraines when he tries (and, oh, he tries, wastes hours and hours forcing himself to make sense of a single page until he’s crying with frustration and his head is pounding and the small fonts of his textbooks blur together too much for him to even see the impossible combinations of letters anymore).

 

But he does what he always has done, and **endure** s each hellish day, for some unknown reason still hanging on to a fraying thread of hope that maybe something, someday, will change.

 

But the it _does._

 

He missteps in the hallways he’s always invisible in, and bumps straight into someone taller and considerably warmer than him. He’s babbling an apology the second he stumbles back, embarrassed as hell, and too shy to glance up and see how the hell he even bumped into.

But then a set of warm hands grip his arms, and he realizes he’s so damn broken that he’s shaking, trembling hard and blushing brightly. He’s terrified, an icy fear blooming rapidly in his chest because he’s not supposed to be talking to anyone, not supposed to be interacting, he’s too much of a waste of space to ever interrupt someone else’s life, who did he think he was?

 

Black spots are clouding the edges of his vision and he realizes he’s actually starting to hyperventilate in the middle of this hallway with a stranger’s hands on the tops of his arms burning warmth through the thin sweater he’s wearing, and he’s never been so mortified in his entire life save for the day he met his stepfather and stepbrother, and he can’t do anything other than collapse--

 

Except he’s still standing, the stranger’s hands in his waist, and he starts to register a voice.

 

It’s male, and smooth, and ridiculously soothing for some reason. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

 

He drags in a breath, ragged and shallow, and nods, eyes finally raising to the very concerned, very gorgeous face that’s dipped to be level with his. Relief washes over the guy’s expression, and then a smile spreads over it, warm and friendly.

 

“I’m Jericho, sorry for walking into you. Are you new?” Skyler’s head is swimming, his voice is just as attractive as his face, and Skyler needs to get away from him as fast as possible.


	2. Fairy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned - there is quite a bit of shaming towards the end, focusing on things Skyler can't control. Once again, if these kinds of things are triggering, please don't read. It's not worth it, I promise! I'm always here to talk if you need me.

It’s messy, Skyler’s mumbled mess of excuses as he backs up a step, then another, putting distance between himself and this Adonis that has somehow managed to spot him when he’s spent his whole life becoming the wall. The guy’s hands fall from his arms, but the universe has it out for Skyler, because they fly out again when Skyler stumbles over a loose paper on the floor (because, of course, this is his life,) and very nearly slips backwards. Warmth circles his waist and he’s brought steady again, and as close as before.

 

He can feel his cheeks quietly burst into flames, the blood rush almost making him dizzy. He can’t lift his eyes from the floor, and his hands are shaking so badly it’s obvious even without the grip Skyler had instinctively taken on Jericho’s biceps (...yeah, they felt amazing, he really needed to leave) when he’d felt himself falling and grabbed again.

 

He lets go and bats Jericho’s hands away with only a slight touch of hysteria, trying very hard not to cry, because he’s already been so badly humiliated he never wants to see the light of day again and it’s all his own fault.

 

“Hey...can I take you somewhere a little less...public? You look like you need a hug, and a place to calm down.” Jericho’s tone is steady, but gentle.

 

Skyler’s addled mind is torn between terror at following this stranger and desire for someplace he doesn’t feel like he’s standing under a spotlight. It’s a split-second, reckless decision that has him nodding and following after Jericho’s tall frame (he splits the crowd like water and Skyler’s never been able to get through the halls this quickly before) until they reach an unlocked door to an empty classroom.

 

The panic has risen right back up again, and Skyler darts to a corner and sinks down instantly, knees drawn up tightly to his chest and head tucking on top of his folded arms.

 

He isn’t aware of anything else for an undetermined amount of time, just his too-quick breathing and the ice freezing him in position until his pulse calms enough for him to defrost and remember how to breathe normally again. He lifts his head, and starts a little, because Jericho’s sitting across from him a few feet away, patiently waiting and off to the side enough where Skyler isn’t cornered.

 

He offers a warm smile, which probably has the intention to make Skyler feel better, but really just makes him want to scream.

 

This is wrong, all wrong, so wrong, he can’t think, he has to get away. But he can’t exactly up and run away, not when Jericho’s been so nice to him. He’s conflicting emotions are making him feel sick, and he swallows, barely.

 

Jericho’s brows furrow in concern, and Skyler feels his cheeks heat up, embarrassed all over again. He can’t bring himself to speak, just swallowing again and trying to keep himself from actually being sick with anxiety.

 

After a moment, Jericho begins to scoot backwards.

 

When he’s another few feet away, Skyler’s breathing gets easier.

 

When they’re entirely across the room from each other, Skyler can relax, just watching him as he gets himself under control again.

 

Jericho doesn't say anything, which Skyler's grateful for because it means he has the time to think about what the hell had just happened in the last twenty minutes.

 

He takes his time in registering the events, partially because he won't panic that way and partially because it's easier, but mainly because he can. He can breathe and think and sit in his corner because Jericho's not moving or showing any kind of threat or impatience, and though that's not something he's used to, he finds himself relieved and grateful for it.

 

So, firstly, he's been spotted. He's no longer just one of the masses making his way through the shadows and along the walls unnoticed, and he doesn't know what to do about that but he knows it's kind of terrifying.

 

Secondly, he's been spotted by a really attractive, really nice guy. And, no, that can't be happening. Sky's got enough problems with his life, but apparently his orientation of being a walking rainbow is just there to make more of them. And it's not that he sees the problem with his preferences (so he finds girls to be amazing, but not even remotely attractive, and he'd happily watch every Marvel movie ever just to spend an hour and a half staring at the very cut bodies of the heroes, who cares? Girls get to do it, he's no different from them beyond basic biology), but rather that everyone _else_ seems to.

 

He can't count the number of times he's been told to be ashamed, that he's a sin, that the very basic qualities that make up who he is are wrong. He's lost the will to even attempt to assign an amount to the bruises that have been scattered over his body to discipline him into something he's not and never will be and absolutely does not want to be.

 

The results of this, though, are his stress levels right now.

 

He can barely think because he's so scared of Anthony, his stepbrother that attends the same school, somehow finding him alone in this room with Jericho. And even if Jericho's straight as a ruler, which is likely in this school, Anthony will still twist it enough to earn Skyler a slap across the face hard enough to make his ears ring.

 

"Are you okay?" Jericho repeats, and the sudden break of silence makes Skyler jump and Jericho looks slightly guilty, which Skyler doesn't understand.

 

"F-fine," He replied, wishing his voice was steadier because how the hell does he sell a lie spoken in shaky tones?

 

"Are you sure? You look a little...upset." Jericho's voice is soothing.

 

Skyler wants to puke, he's so nervous. Swallowing hard, he nods with more confidence than he'll ever actually possess. "Yeah, just...don't feel well. Bad day."

 

Thankfully, Jericho doesn’t push, and Skyler is able to escape the room with a few more pointless excuses.

 

The rest of the day is average, which is a relief, and lasts up until the end of school. He’s dropping off his books (which he never bothers to open anymore, he doesn’t have much hope of passing high school and fully intends to drop out next year) when Anthony comes up beside him, arms crossed and frown in place.

 

“You just can’t keep yourself away from my friends, can you? First Will, who doesn’t even talk to me anymore, and then Jericho, who mentioned you to me earlier. Apparently he somehow recognized you from when he was over once, which is stupid, because I told you to just stay in your room when I had company.” He starts, already speaking angrily.

 

Skyler’s cheeks are red again and he’s stammering an apology, but Anthony just talks over him. “And you’re so fucking _helpless_ you can’t even walk in a hallway by yourself, and I honestly am starting to think there’s no hope for you to ever function like a normal human being. Dad still thinks your **fairy** genes are the reason, and I agree.”

 

Skyler flinched at the last part, knowing full well Anthony didn’t mean the mythical creature, but rather using the term as an insult to his orientation.

 

Again.

 

He swallowed his instinctual response, not wanting more trouble than he was already in, and followed the still-fuming Anthony to his car.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm writing as I receive prompts from my friend, the creator of Jericho (Sky's mine).


End file.
